Not alone
Sister Elizabeth gave me a beautiful diary today. She also gave me a pen to write in it. She says it will help my hand become stronger. When I asked her what I should write about, she said write about your life, your story. I think she's crazy because no one would want to read my story, but despite that, I am going to write in the diary.
I am just recovering from polio this summer. I could barely move my fingers, or out of bed, and now I am relearning how to walk and how to write. I am happy I am able to do the things I used to do, but it also makes me sad. It reminds me of when I first got sick. I knew I was starting to show polio symptoms, and because of that my parents left me. My only friend is Sister Elizabeth. The other kids are cruel and are hoard. They laugh at me and put frogs in my bed. But thats not even the worst of it. Last winter they put a rat in my soup. They think I am weak and do not have enough faith in God. I felt like crying, but I didn't because I didn't want to show I was weak. Sister Elizabeth constantly get in trouble with Mother Superior, more than any of the girls in the entire orphanage.
I am glad to have Sister Elizabeth as a friend. I am going to try walking today. I am scared that I am going to fall, and never be able to walk again. Its funny to think, when I was 10 I worried about things, like if my father would come home, or if my mother would make me curl my hair. And now I worry about such things like walking.
I wonder what the other me would think about me now. I keep thinking about the look on my mother's face right before she left me. She looked scared, sad,and angry all at the same time. Words cannot describe her face. As soon as I saw it I knew something wasn't good. And something terrible was about to happen.
I am mad at my mother, but I would really like to see her again one last time to tell her I still love her. But at the same time, I hope she's “happy” with herself. I am glad no one has to read this, otherwise if one the girls saw this diary, they would take it to Mother Superior and she would probably make me say so many, so many prayers or give me everyone's chores. Halloween is coming, I would like to go trick or treating, but as if that's a possibility, I can barely walk, and Mother Superior thinks its a dark holiday.
I personally think she is absolutely nuts. Its based on an ancient feast called All Hallows Eve. I bet she attended that ancient feast, because she looks as if she is one hundred years old! She has no teeth, no hair, and a very, very wrinkly face! I know about all Hallows Eve because I like to read a lot. Speaking of reading, I can't seem to concentrate on my books today, because I keep hearing some sort of squealing! Today when sister Elizabeth takes me out to walk, I am going to go see what that noise is.
Sister Elizabeth is so much different than the other nuns. She is less strict and more happy. I wonder why she's a nun. She should have became a farmer or a nurse instead of a nun. I wonder why she became a nun. She tells me lots of stories of her childhood, but never any stories of why she decided to become a nun. She's not a real nun yet, she has not taken her vows yet. She told me there is a new girl coming today. I hope this girl isn't as cruel as the other girls. And if she's not, I feel bad for her, because they are going to eat her alive.
Sister Elizabeth, along with a physiotherapist named Jenny took me outside to do some walking exercise. I'm walking with crutches. It is very hard. And suddenly I heard the squealing again. I walked towards it. There was a pig in the yard! The pig was probably there to become everyone's supper. I got a stupid idea, I knew i would get in so much trouble, but I opened up the cage to get a little bit closer. But then the pig ran straight out. I thought, Oh no! So I walked towards the physiotherapist. Maybe I could pretend I didn't do anything so I wont get in trouble. The therapist was impressed on my improvement that I had made during the summer. Last winter I could barely move my fingers very well. It's hard to get better when the therapist only comes twice a month.
Short story by: Cruz 'CJ' Bertsch